


Chatligula

by Elenchus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minific, Tumblr Prompt, kitten fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5701042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenchus/pseuds/Elenchus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bossuet brings home a kitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bossuet and Joly

Joly blinked at Laigle as he came in the door. “There’s something in your coat sleeve,” he said.

The thing in Laigle’s sleeve mewled piteously and thrashed its tail as Laigle fished it out. It was revealed as a small kitten, only scarcely old enough, in Joly’s opinion, to be taken from its mother. It was all black save for patches of white on its feet and a little white spot near its nose. Laigle had to hold the kitten close to keep it from escaping as he presented it for Joly’s inspection. “Behold, _mon_ Joly, I have brought you a soul mate.”

Laigle had joked often enough that Joly has the soul of cat, but he’d never approached it so…concretely before. “Where did he come from?” It was always a good idea to ask, where Joly’s friends were concerned. Especially Bossuet. He might be a stolen pet of a minister, or a witch’s familiar, or simply the most ill-tempered feline his friend could find.

“My drinking friend Pierre’s cat had kittens. He’s been trying to sell the litter off as rat catchers, like their mother, and this one was the last of the lot. It seemed no one wanted a beast of his color.” Laigle scratched the kitten under its chin in obvious sympathy. It squeaked happily back at him.

“So you bought him?” Joly did have something of a problem with rats. It wasn’t bad idea, come to think of it.

Laigle laughed. “Lord no. As though I had the money! Pierre was going to drown the poor fellow as an omen of bad luck. I told him that as a fellow omen of bad luck I objected on principle, and that if he proposed drowning unwanted nuisances he might start with himself.”

“Did he follow your programme?” asked Joly. He held out a finger cautiously and the kitten sniffed it.

“Alas, no. He condescended to baptize me with a glass of wine, and we agreed that was drowning enough for one night.”

“And he gave you the cat?”

Laigle gave an airy shrug. “I took the cat; he did not object. The legal grounding is tenuous but precedent is ample. Therefore on this rock I will build my church, and in my church I will place this cat.”

“I’m going to have to take bigger rooms if you want to make my apartments into a Basilica. Especially if you keep bringing back new parishioners. I don’t suppose this one pays rent?” The kitten was rubbing against his fingers with remarkable enthusiasm, and Joly couldn’t help scratching it lightly behind the ears.

“No,” replied Laigle, “but I dare vouch that he will work for his bed and board. So you see that he is already an improvement on other of your tenants.”

“Never.” Joly knew he was blushing slightly, a bad habit of his he had yet to find the nostrum to cure. “What could be worth more than your companionship?”

When Laigle smiled – really smiled – it was like sunshine, like a warm cup of tea, like a new discovery that made the whole order of nature clear. “Why, yours, my dearest friend.” 

Joly decided to hide the growing redness of his face by pulling Laigle into a kiss. After a few moments Laigle began to laugh and breathlessly pulled away. The kitten had climbed up the front of his shirt and was stubbornly butting its head against Laigle’s neck. “It seems I have aroused jealousy!” he declared cheerfully. “Didn’t I tell you he was to be your soul mate?”

Joly bent down to look the kitten in the eye and affected a serious expression. “I’m sorry,” he announced solemnly, “but the position of soul mate is filled.”

“Nonsense,” said Laigle. He held the kitten in check and kissed Joly again. Joly melted happily against him and let himself be thoroughly kissed.

“Is it possible for you to be loved too much?” Laigle asked softly after the kiss was through. “I think not.”

Joly hummed contentedly, in no mood to disagree.

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE**

Joly moved a feather around table and watched the kitten frantically chase it. “Have you already named him? I hope it isn’t something heretical. Musichetta wouldn’t like it, you know.”

“Come now, would I do such a thing?”

“Yes,” said Joly without any hesitation.

Laigle nodded cheerfully. “Quite right, I would. But there is only one proper name for a tyrant in little boots.”

Joly held the feather up so that Caligula the kitten had to jump to reach it. “Is he a tyrant? Ought we hide him from our friends then?”

“Every cat is a tyrant. He holds absolute rule and accepts no domination. But since his fellow citizens are all tyrants as well, his only subject is himself. There is perfect equality in the polity of cats.”

The great tyrant batted too hard at the feather and fell over onto his back. He waved his little white paws around for several moments trying to regain his footing. Laigle tapped him lightly on the nose and smiled as Caligula tried to catch his fingers.

“A charming contradiction,” said Joly. “I think he will fit in with our friends after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Joly/Legle, giggly kiss.
> 
> Caligula is the commonly used nickname of the third Roman emperor. The name literally means "little [soldier's] boots."


	2. Enjolras and Combeferre

Enjolras looked dubiously at Joly’s chest, where Caligula was happily snuggling his owner. “What – what is that?” said Enjolras.

“It’s a kitten,” said Combefere helpfully.

Enjolras began to cautiously stretch his hand towards Caligula, but then stopped and drew it back. “Is it tame?”

Joly looked down at the small fuzzy lump rubbing its head against his chest and softly rumbling, then looked back at Enjolras. Enjolras continued to look concerned.

“Yes,” said Joly firmly. “Would you like to hold him?”

Enjolras’ hand was still hovering partway over the table, as though he couldn’t make up his mind what to do with it. “I- well. I’m not sure I ought-”

Combeferre snorted and scooped Caligula out of Joly’s hands. He deposited the kitten on Enjolras’ lap without any fuss. “Here,” he said, “hold him like this.” He guided Enjolras’ hands into position.

“But what do I _do_ with it?” asked Enjolras. There was an unusual plaintive note of confusion in his voice. He’d followed Combeferre’s instructions, but he was still holding Caligula gingerly, as though he might accidentally break him.

“Follow my lead.” Combeferre scratched Caligula behind his ears, and was rewarded by the kitten leaning into his fingers. Combeferre moved his fingers down to scratch Caligula’s chin. “See? You try.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Enjolras began to scratch Caligula’s head. In a few moments, the kitten had practically melted in his lap. As Enjolras continued, growing bolder, Caligula began to purr.

Enjolras stopped abruptly. “Did he I hurt him? Is he angry?” He looked at Joly helplessly. “Can he be fixed?”

Combeferre put his hand over Enjolras’ and guided it back to the kitten. Caligula had stopped purring and was looking around curiously in search of more scratches. “He’s fine, my dear. It just means that he’s happy.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras. He started petting Caligula again, coaxing him easily back into contended purring. “I see.”

Combeferre bumped his arm against Enjolras lightly. “Just like you.”

“ _I_ do not growl when I’m happy,” said Enjolras.

“That is a matter of some debate,” said Combeferre. Enjolras arched an eyebrow at him and Combeferre gave a non-comital hum back.

“I can take him back if you like,” said Joly. “I don’t want to distress you.”

“No,” said Enjolras. “I think he’s comfortable now. It would be a shame to disturb him.”

Enjolras continued to pet Caligula for several minutes in silence, and the kitten was indeed so comfortable that at last he curled up and went to sleep on Enjolras’ lap.

Enjolras looked up from the dozing kitten. “Joly,” he said, “do you remember how you asked me to review the Republic with you last month?”

“Of course I do,” said Joly.

“I recall an argument for the holding of good things in common between citizens and friends which you were quite adamant in defending.”

“Yes, but-”

“So really," continued Enjolras, “isn’t this _our_ kitten?”


	3. Grantaire

“Man!” ejaculated Grantaire. “Man is a mistake! A bungled job, an embarrassing monstrosity, the novice project of an incompetent craftsman. He has the skin of a plucked chicken, and the hair of a dead dog. His form has no grace; he shambles awkwardly on two legs until he falls over onto none. If God cast Adam from Eden it was so that he might look on paradise without this gross blot. Where is the beauty in man’s form, where the meaning in his life? His character is bad, his stench worse. Ah! To have been born a butterfly, a hummingbird or- or a cat -” 

Every head at the table swiveled to look across the room where Enjolras was sitting with Caligula. The kitten was batting at Enjolras’ hair while he wrote. There was a slight smile on Enjolras’ face, and from time to time he would reach out his hand to stroke Caligula’s tiny head. 

Caligula caught a few strands of Enjolras’ golden hair in his mouth and worried at them with his teeth and paws. 

Heads turned back to Grantaire. He made a strangled sound and dropped his head down on the table in despair. 

* * *

 

“Is his hair as soft as it looks?” asked Grantaire. 

“Mreep!” chirped Caligula. 

Grantaire swore.


	4. Jean Prouvaire

Caligula took one look at Jehan and took off like a shot, running away under the bookshelf faster than Laigle had known he could move.

“Oh,” said Prouvaire, sounding a little wistful. Perhaps he’d come over wanting to see the kitten and was disappointed. Or perhaps he’d seen a butterfly on his walk and been reminded of the sweet brevity of life. It was hard to tell with Prouvaire.

“I don’t know what’s come over him,” said Joly, peering under the bookshelf. Caligula inched further back and thrashed his tail furiously. “Usually he’s very social.”

“So is Grantaire,” said Laigle, “but I’ve seen him hide under furniture from time to time as well.”

“Perhaps I knew him in a prior life,” said Prouvaire, perking up at the thought. “When he was a man, or I was a cat. Or both something else entirely. I’m sorry if I ever gave offense,” he told the bottom of the bookshelf. The bottom of the bookshelf gave a tiny hiss back.

“Do any of your books say if cats can see color?” Laigle asked Joly. They both took a moment to take in Prouvaire’s ensemble of yellows and purples and bright blue feathers.

“This might be evidence for the hypothesis,” admitted Joly. Turning back to Prouvaire, he invited him in and offered him a seat.

“I’m only stopping by quickly,” said Prouvaire, “I wanted to get your thoughts on wording for my pamphlet before I show it to –”

A flash of black and white dashed by and jumped, almost reaching Prouvaire’s knee. The kitten lost balance midway through the jump and fought furiously to right himself before landing awkwardly on his feet and scrambling to run behind the door. He settled down onto his paws and glared up at Prouvaire…or rather, up at his head.

Prouvaire made a little humming sound and pulled one of the feathers out of his hatband. He swished it between his fingers near the floor. Caligula’s head snapped back and forth as the feather moved, and after a few moments he ran out and swiped at it with all his tiny might. Prouvaire laughed and moved the feather around, letting Caligula chase it.

“So no encounters in a past life after all then,” said Laigle.

“Or evidence regarding feline optometry,” added Joly.

“We don’t _know_ that,” said Prouvaire, “but if we held a séance–”

“ _No_.” Laigle and Joly said together in perfect unison.


	5. Courfeyrac

“You needn’t bring me anything,” said Courfeyrac, who was already sipping a glass of Joly’s wine and sitting comfortably at his table. He stretched artfully, a picture of perfect repose. “I’ve just stopped by for a minute to deliver your tickets. Can’t stay more than a moment.”

“Of course,” said Joly genially. He refilled Courfeyrac’s cup. “But you must catch me up on some of your news first. How do things stand with your Angeline?”

Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Well, last Saturday I saw her exiting Madame G—’s salon and-”

Caligula yawned and stretched upon the table in a pose, if possible, even more artful than Courfeyrac’s. The tip of his tail tickled Courfeyrac’s chin, and Courfeyrac brushed it aside with a slight grimace before continuing.

“-And she was accompanied by that notorious flirt Beaumont, for all that Madame G— has sworn she’ll call for the gendarmes if he sets foot within 50 paces of her.”

Caligula, uninterested, sauntered slowly across the table and jumped off the edge. A moment later, all three heard the unmistakable sound of a kitten scratching his claws gently against leather.

Courfeyrac yelped, and hissed as Caligula raced away from the boot he’d been worrying at. Caligula paused to hiss back, then resumed his flight.

“Quite sorry about that,” said Joly, who wasn’t particularly.

“You should see what he did to my third oldest coat,” said Laigle, hiding his amusement only slightly better.

Courfeyrac relaxed even deeper into his chair with a studied air of unconcern. “It is nothing; I have forgotten it already. Now where was I? Ah yes, it transpired that Beaumont had written a new poem and dedicated it to Mademoiselle D— who _naturally_ was not in attendance…"

Joly and Laigle kept Courfeyrac another half hour, gossiping and joking and sharing their wine, until finally he declared that he simply couldn’t stay another minute longer. At this point, he spent the next five minutes biding them farewell.

Finally at the door, they encountered a serious problem.

“Where the devil is my hat?” asked Courfeyrac.

The problem, though assuredly a grave one, proved easily dissolved – a quick survey of the room found Courfeyrac’s hat by the furnace, with a furry black-and-white form half poking out from under it. The kitten snored and snuffled softly as they watched.

“Good Lord,” said Joly. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

Laigle nodded. “I should suppose them brothers if I didn’t know better. Are we _sure_ all the de Courfeyracs are accounted for?”

Courfeyrac ostentatiously did not deign to comment.


End file.
